


The Blood of the North

by wandering_gypsy_feet



Series: Week of One Shots [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-04 13:34:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18344711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandering_gypsy_feet/pseuds/wandering_gypsy_feet
Summary: Sansa Stark was a mother, a wife, a lady of Winterfell. She was celebrating her children coming of age when she was forced to deal with the fact that occasionally, history repeats itself.Sequel to Gone North, To Die.Part five in the week of one shots series.





	The Blood of the North

**Author's Note:**

> GUYS GUYS GUYS I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS ONE. I AM SO NERVOUS FOR SEASON EIGHT. PRAY WITH ME.
> 
> a note - this follows a slightly more book canon, where the wedding of alys karstark is a much bigger deal!

"Mama, mama, mama, mama, mama," Arietta came racing down the hall. Sansa looked up and had to catch her daughter around the waist, to prevent her from sliding down the icy walkway and crashing into the wall. Arietta grinned at her, breathless and rosy cheeked from the chill.  

 

"Ladies don't run," Sansa chastised her gently and Arietta tossed her long red braid over her shoulder. 

 

"They do if their aunt is here!" 

 

"Which aunt?" Sansa inquired dryly, carefully rolling up the parchment that she'd been using to carefully note the necessary updates that needed to be done to Winterfell. Arietta had few biological aunts and uncles, but several honorary ones. After the war, so many families had been so depleted, that the bonds forged by the survivors were all the stronger. 

 

"Brienne and Tormund are at the gates," Arietta explained, "I rode out and met them, but they said to go tell you that they're coming shortly." 

 

"Doubtless so I can have a warm meal ready for Tormund," Sansa remarked, shaking her head. "Run along, go tell your sister and brothers then. Warn Broddrick in the stables please, and find Maud to tell the kitchen girls to get soup on." 

 

"Of course mama," Arietta gave her a brushing kiss on her cheek and scampered off eagerly. Sansa turned and headed for the family rooms; she'd been expecting the impending arrival of their family for several days now. The tournament they were throwing in honor of Malin and Arietta's name day would be large one, since Jon and Dany had sent word that they'd be arriving, with their court in tow. Sansa had to turn Winterfell on it's head to fit everyone, but it was worth it to see her family together again. 

 

She found her housekeeper and some of the maids turning down beds. Sansa nodded her head approvingly and went to check on the rooms for the king and queen. The court had set off weeks ago and was nearly here, but Jon and Dany made the journey in a fraction of the time with their dragons. They'd tend to affairs in Kings Landing for as long as they could then would arrive in time to see the festivities begin. 

 

She was in the great hall, overseeing the placing of massive tables for the bannermen to eat at when Malin, Andrik, and Harding came racing in. Sansa shouted at them to stop before they barreled over the servants carrying benches. 

 

"Can we go to the gate to see them?" yelled Harding, practically dancing in place.

 

"You may, but stay out of the way," Sansa warned them, "gods know I already have enough underfoot right now." 

 

With whoops of joy, her boys departed. Sansa rolled her eyes and took a deep breath, looking around with a critical eye. What else needed to be done before the arrival of everyone else? She stayed for as long as she could to help direct the servants, but when she heard the bell toll above the gate for the arrival of theirs guests, she smoothed down her cloak and went to greet them. 

 

Tormund was still sitting astride his horse when Sansa arrived, though Brienne had dismounted and was talking eagerly to Harding, Andrik, and Malin. Sansa smiled, glad to see them both after several months apart. She had an idea of what exactly Tormund was going to ask and smiled when he did. 

 

"Now where is that big fucker you call a husband?" 

 

"At the tourney grounds," she explained, "and will likely appreciate your help." 

 

"As beautiful and charming as ever, Lady of Winterfell," he gave her a rougeish wink and then wheeled around, thundering back out the gates and to where the tourney had been set up, beyond the walls and Wintertown. Sansa shook her head and went to embrace Brienne, smiling. 

 

"It's good to see you," she said honestly and Brienne smiled. 

 

"You as well. Things are going smoothly?" 

 

"As they can," they left her sons to take her horse to the stables as they walked to their rooms, sharing any news they had. Sansa was just opening the door to Brienne's room when Arietta threw herself into Brienne's arms with a delighted shout. Posy wasn't far behind, also shouting a greeting. 

 

"Well hello to you two as well," Brienne chuckled, gently untangling herself from them. 

 

"Auntie Brienne, auntie Brienne--" 

 

"Is uncle Tormund here?" 

 

"Did you bring me a present?" 

 

"It's my name day, I get the presents!" 

 

"No, I want one too!" 

 

"Well, you can't, it's not your--"

 

"Girls," Sansa cut off their bickering and Arietta and Posy both looked up at her guiltily. 

 

"Gifts are in my saddlebags," Brienne revealed with a smile and both girls beamed. 

 

"You'll get them after supper," Sansa declared and there was a brief moment of pouting before Brienne added, 

 

"But you can go retrieve them now." 

 

"Me first!" Posy tried to push past her much larger sister, but Arietta had her mother's long legs and soon was several strides ahead. Sansa listened to them as they grew more distant, smiling. 

 

"Always good to see them so well and full of life," Brienne remarked and Sansa gave her a grateful smile, happy that Brienne embraced the chaos of her family so well. 

 

"Get settled in," she gestured to the room at large, "as always, please just ask for anything you need." 

 

"Rest, just rest," Brienne declared, sitting down on the bed and pulling off her riding boots. Sansa left to give her some peace and went back to the kitchen to make sure the meal was being prepared. 

 

Over the course of the afternoon, others arrived. The Umbers, the Flints, the Karstarks, and the Mormonts were all there, banners flying. Sansa found Lyanna briskly ordering her men about even while she held her infant daughter. Sansa greeted her with a kiss and then let her get on with it. Once things finally got to a point where she felt satisfied letting them carry on, she went to round up her rowdy children. 

 

They were in their rooms, after being brought there by their father, who was hollering at them in a good-natured way to get ready before their mother arrived. Sansa leaned against the door frame and watched with a smile as he crashed after a half dressed Posy, who shrieked with wild glee. The boys were fighting over a pair of boots, while Arietta complained that her long hair was snarled and too hard to untangle. Sansa was just glad the direwolves were in the godswood so that they weren't added to the mess. 

 

"Alright," she said finally, taking pity on her husband. They all stopped and looked at her. "Malin, those are your brother's boots. Yours are in the solar where you left them. Go get them and get dressed. Harding, Andrik, you as well. Posy, let your father put your dress on. Arietta, bring me the comb and a basin of water.” 

 

“I thank the gods for the day they made you, wife,” Sandor helped Posy hustle past her, giving a kiss as he did so. 

 

“And you,” Sansa muttered, taking the comb from Arietta and sitting her down in front of the fire. She began to pull the clumps into roughly defined segments. She was so focused on her work, she nearly missed Arietta absentmindedly fretting with some spare thread on the edge of her sleeve; her daughter never fidgeted unless she was nervous. Sansa waited patiently for Arietta to speak. 

 

“Who all is here?” she questioned, flinching as Sansa began to pull the knots apart. 

 

“Most of the banner men,” Sansa kept her tone light and conversational, trying to be gentle. Her daughter had thick, unruly hair that was prone to curls, further hindering any progress in sorting it out. 

 

“When will uncle Jon and aunt Dany arrive?” 

 

“Day after the next,” Sansa informed her, “but their court should be here any day.”

 

“And aunt Arya?” Arietta was careful to keep her voice even. 

 

“I’m sure she’s on her way,” Sansa actually had no clue where Arya might be or if she would make it, but she had faith. Her sister had never failed her yet. 

 

“Who else?” Arietta pressed and Sansa wondered if there was perhaps a certain name her daughter wished to hear. As far as she was concerned, both Arietta and Malin could chose their suitors, provided it was a good family. 

 

“I’m sure a fair amount of knights and free riders,” she said diplomatically, 

 

“Oh, alri-- ow!” Arietta gave a little groan which Sansa took the comb to her hair. "Ow mama, that hurts.” 

 

“Well perhaps if you didn’t wear it down when you rode we wouldn’t have this issue.” 

 

“I like when it flows in the wind,” Arietta gave her a sheepish smile. 

 

“Well perhaps we don’t do that before a night like tonight,” Sansa suggested easily and Arietta groaned as Sansa managed to clear several knots. 

 

“Mama!” 

 

“I know,” Sansa tried to soothe her, “tell me a story to distract you.” 

 

“What story do you want to hear?” Arietta grumbled, slouching. Sansa prodded her to sit up straighter. 

 

“What are you learning at your lessons?” 

 

“History,” Arietta revealed, “the conquest, how the three dragon riders come and how my ancestor knelt and how others died. Those are Jon and Dany’s ancestors, aren’t they?” 

 

“Yes, but Jon’s mother was a Stark,” Sansa reminded her, “and he’s as northern as me or Arya.” 

 

“And father was a westerman,” Arietta stated and Sansa wet her hands to do the complex braids for her daughter’s hair. 

 

“Yes, he was,” Sansa confirmed. 

 

“So I’m westerman and northerner?” Arietta tried to twist back to look at her, but Sansa was holding her fast. 

 

“And from the riverlands,” she explained, giving her hair an ever so light tug, “that’s why you have the Tully hair. My hair, my mother’s hair. She and I use to do this, when I was a girl. She would do my hair, just like I’m doing yours now.” 

 

“Do you miss her terribly?” Arietta asked and Sansa’s hands shook for a moment as she pulled the hair tight. 

 

“Yes,” she forced some levity into her voice, to spare her daughter the knowledge that there were days where Sansa went to the crypts and sobbed herself dry. There were nights where Sandor had to hold her tightly, lest she shatter into pieces she could never put back together. 

 

“I would miss you terribly mama,” Arietta said quietly and Sansa swallowed hard, trying to stop herself from bursting into tears at the very idea. Everything she and Sandor had done, had fought for, was to prevent their children from suffering the same fate as they had. So she reached down, squeezed Arietta’s shoulder and then resumed braiding. 

 

“And by gods, I will never go anywhere, nor you,” she said fiercely and Arietta hummed for a moment. 

 

“Until I get married?” Arietta’s fidgeting increased and Sansa unintentionally yanked her daughter’s hair back harder than she wanted. 

 

“You’re still young.” she had chided Sandor for being touchy on the same subject not a month ago when it was brought up, but now here she was doing the same. She wanted her daughter to be happy and well, off in a household of her own. But she also didn’t want to give her up anytime soon. “Besides, have you thought of someone you’d like to court?" 

 

“No,” Arietta answered, just a little too quickly. Sansa gave another tug of the hair and Arietta stomped her foot. 

 

“You know this tournament is for you and your brother,” Sansa began and Arietta gave a very unladylike snort. 

 

“Malin is the heir to Winterfell, not me.” 

 

“And you are still a highborn lady,” Sansa reminded her quickly, “and the niece of the king. I only want my children’s happiness, but I do need to know what your thoughts are on the matter. You’re my daughter, I’m your mother. I don’t want you to hide anything from me.” 

 

“I know mama,” Arietta promised eagerly and Sansa finished weaving the braids together at the back of her head. The rest of Arietta’s curly red hair fell loose down her back. 

 

“There, now go on and get dressed,” Sansa ordered and Arietta got up, kissing her on the cheek as she went for her room. Sansa dragged a hand over her face, exhaustion setting in. Then she roused herself and went to change. She had the whole night ahead of her. She was just pulling off her dress when Sandor entered, groaning. 

 

“Our Posy-girl, my love, she’s going to worse than all the others together, mark my words.” 

 

“I don’t doubt that,” Sansa replied, amused, “not when they’ve taught her all their tricks.” 

 

“How are you?” Sandor came up behind her, wrapping her in an embrace. Sansa smiled and leaned back against his warm chest. “You must have been busy with the arrivals.” 

 

“Did Tormund make it to you?” Sansa kissed his hands and then pulled a dress out, one of her nicest. 

 

“He did. I’m sure he’ll change everything around the second I take my eyes off him,” complained Sandor, sitting down on the bed. Sansa stepped into her dress, then went to get the tool for Sandor to do the buttons on it. His large hands and fingers did not do well with the tiny buttons, but he’d gotten better over the years. He preferred to do it, rather than the maids, since it meant that no one else intruded on their time together. 

 

“Don’t take your eyes off him then,” Sansa teased and he grumbled something, kissing between her shoulder blades before beginning to fasten the buttons. 

 

“Is everything in place for the arrival of the dragons?” he asked and Sansa felt the beginnings of a headache starting to set in. 

 

“As much as it can be. How are the tourney grounds?” 

 

“They’ll do,” he declared, “so long as Tormund keeps his wits about himself during the melee.” 

 

“We can only hope,” she said dryly and Sandor finished off the buttons. Sansa shook out her hair and went to get the brush. He also enjoyed brushing her hair and Sansa appreciated the freedom it allowed her hands to do other things, like unlacing Sandor’s nice boots for him. 

 

“I cannot believe they’re going to be fourteen,” Sandor muttered, slowly pulling the brush through her hair. 

 

“I can’t imagine it either.” Sansa could still remember the day they were born, the fear and pain over Sandor not being there. “It seems like they should be still be toddling about these rooms, getting into trouble.” 

 

“I wish they were still that easy to deter,” Sandor joked and Sansa smiled, setting aside one boot and grabbing the other. 

 

“Well, we can always give Arietta a new horse to distract her, and Malin just needs books,” she said with a wry smile. 

 

“Aye, and Harding and Andrik the sword and Posy whatever sort of delight she wants,” Sandor agreed, “but they still manage to create mischief wherever they go.” 

 

“Did you expect anything less with our brood?” Sansa questioned him, neatly setting the boots aside for him. 

 

“With your brains and beauty?” Sandor kissed her ear and set the brush down. “Never, wife.” 

 

“They get a fair bit of it from you.” Sansa went to get Sandor a fresh shirt and his nicest cloak from the wardrobe. Most of her husband’s day were spent with the working men while she ran the household. It was a balance that worked for them, allowing each to lead with their strengths. 

 

“So who all has arrived?” Sandor’s mood turned slightly foul when Sansa laid out his attire. He hated being the lord of the castle on nights like tonight. Sansa reeled off the same list she’d given their daughter, then added, 

 

“And I know you’d prefer that all of them stay out in Winterstown, but I have to offer the lords rooms inside our walls.” 

 

“I know,” he said darkly, “though I like it less that Glover’s son has his eyes on Arietta.” 

 

“And how do you know that?” Sansa straightened up so quickly her head spun. Sandor eyed her as he pulled his dirty shirt off and reached for the clean one. 

 

“His men talk. To Tormund especially.” 

 

“Well tell Tormund to listen carefully to who else might be hoping for a Stark bride,” she said darkly. She was on edge. She wanted the best for Arietta and Malin both, to let them decide their own future, but she knew the tricks men played to get what they wanted. 

 

“Weren’t you just saying she’s a woman grown?” Sandor pointed out and Sansa narrowed her eyes at him. 

 

“She’s also still a very much sheltered child and I won’t have her going off with the first boy to make eyes at her, it’s just common sense,” she tried to sound offhanded, rational, but Sandor saw through that defense. He came over, grabbed her chin, and tilted her face so she was looking up at him. Sansa didn’t resist, just letting him inspect her face until he promised gently, 

 

“The things that happened to us that young, it won’t happen to them.” 

 

“I know,” Sansa relaxed, ever so slightly. Arietta wasn’t her, and the Glover boy wasn’t Joffrey. But sometimes, when she woke from nightmares of gasping kings and poisonous lies, she wondered if this life wasn’t all some dream she’d made up in her head and she was still back in Kings Landing after all. 

 

“Now come along little bird,” Sandor gave her another brief kiss, “you’ve many hungry mouthes to feed.” 

 

The madness only intensified over the next two days, when Jon and Dany’s court arrived without them, as well as other houses and their lords, free riders and hedge knights, and every lowborn person who could make it to Winterfell. It was all Sansa could do to keep herself from taking a book and hiding out in the godswood from everyone trying to pull her in a hundred different directions.

 

Tyrion arrived and wanted an audience with her, bringing news of the court and gifts for the children. Sansa only had time to have a brief greeting before she was brought into a dispute over which rooms belonged to which lords. Then she had to go to the kitchen, then the Great Hall, then the library, until she was left spinning. It was a relief to hear the bell above the gate begin to ring, the special one she’d had made to herald Jon’s arrival and no others. She raced outside to the courtyard just in time to see dragons emerging from the clouds.

 

“Thank the gods,” she greeted him, when he and Dany came striding in. Off in the distance, the dragons were flying off to hunt, away from the castle and its inhabitants. 

 

“Sorry for our delay,” Jon greeted her with a kiss and a hug, “there were matters to be attended to.” 

 

“The children?” Sansa asked worriedly, going to embrace Dany. 

 

“No, they’re fine,” Dany reassured her, “if not angry to not be coming. There’s been flooding in the Reach, and we need to send aid before any crops are lost.” 

 

“Well, it would be understandable if you weren’t able to make it, but I know who will be very excited you’re here.” Sansa led them inside, servants bowing out of the way as they did so. 

 

“Uncle Jon!” Andrik had no sense of propriety, given that he didn’t bow before his king but rather threw himself at him. Jon caught him with a groan, pretending to have a difficult time, staggering about under his weight. 

 

“Nanny!” Posy yelled, racing for Dany, who knelt to give her niece a hug. Malin and Arietta were both old enough to know better, and performed a bow and curtsy apiece before embracing them. Harding did as well, though his was far sloppier.

 

“You’ve all grown so much,” Dany marveled, cupping Arietta’s cheek. 

 

“I’m strong now, father’s letting me work with a real sword,” Harding boasted and Malin rolled his eyes. 

 

“He let you hold one, once, in the training yard.” 

 

“So?” Harding said defensively and Jon laughed. 

 

“Did you ride the dragons?” Posy asked Dany seriously. She had been young enough the last time they’d visited that she didn’t remember the dragons, though her siblings had been filling her head with stories for months now. 

 

“We did, but they are far away,” Dany assured her, “perhaps tomorrow we can go see them?” 

 

“But will they eat me?” Posy demanded worriedly and Sansa gave her three sons a withering look. They all suddenly seemed interested in the floor. 

 

“Alright, enough of that,” Sansa clapped her hands, “back to your lessons. Your aunt and uncle have other things to attend to.”

 

“Mama,” Arietta complained and Sansa cut her off.

 

“The tourney begins tomorrow and you’ll have enough distraction from your lessons. We’ll sit in the same box as them, you may converse at length then. Now, lessons.” 

 

“Fine,” they all sulked back to their desks and books, even Posy. 

 

“You’re no fun,” Jon teased and Sansa exchanged exasperated looks with Dany. 

 

Sansa was a little bit disappointed that night, as she finally trudged up to the family rooms for bed, that no one had heard from or seen Arya. She knew her younger sister was busy, oftentimes with things Sansa couldn't and didn’t want to understand, but she had thought that Arya would make it home in time for the twins’ birthday. If only for her children’s sake. They loved their aunt deeply and would be heart broken if they thought she didn’t want to come. She pushed open the door to her solar and nearly reached for her daggers when she saw that someone was standing by the fire. 

 

“You still carry those things?” the man turned and his face was one of amusement. Sansa’s mouth twitched fiercely, but she managed to say, 

 

“Only because I’ve got no cause for an upgrade.” 

 

“I could get you some of dragon glass,” he offered and Sansa sat down in a chair. 

 

“I’ve had enough of wight killing for my lifetime, thank you very much. I’ll keep the ones my husband gave me, mind you.” 

 

“You always were sentimental,” the man sat across from her and Sansa eyed him levelly. 

 

“Well someone has to be in this family. Take that off, won’t you?” 

 

“This?” he stroked his jaw line. “I quite like it.” 

 

“You look ridiculous,” Sansa declared. “Who are you anyways?” 

 

“I was a stableboy in the Riverlands. Liked to try to chase kitchen maids,” he said, reaching around to the back of his neck. Sansa watched without emotion as the face distorted and then suddenly came loose and Arya was the one staring back at her. 

 

“I take it what he did with those kitchen maids was his cause of death?” Sansa asked tonelessly and Arya set the mask aside. 

 

“Actually, he drowned. I came upon him not long after it happened, and I needed a new face. Not everyone is thrilled with what I’ve done, so it’s best to be someone else for the moment,” she explained and Sansa looked over at the pile of correspondence she always made her way through at the end of the day. 

 

“Well tell me what you’ve done then, since I clearly haven’t heard anything.” 

 

“I put a rightful heir back in his seat,” Arya stated and Sansa sighed. 

 

“Gendry. How on earth did you convince the storm lords to accept him? I thought they’d turned up some long lost cousin or uncle to take the seat.” 

 

“I got Jon to naturalize him, then waged a very secret but effective campaign to get their loyalties to align with him,” Arya gave her a sly smile and Sansa raised one eyebrow, sure she knew what work Arya had done. 

 

“Well I’m glad that I know this before the rest of them. I assume Jon and Dany know you’re here?” 

 

“I’ll make my way over to them shortly,” Arya decided and Sansa smiled. 

 

“I’m your first stop. I’m touched.” 

 

“Well I thought that your brute of a husband would be here and I wanted a word with him about the tourney tomorrow,” Arya had a glint in her eye that Sansa didn’t much like. “I’m thinking of being the mystery knight.” 

 

“Let the poor stableboy die in peace,” Sansa complained, standing. 

 

“I’ll give him fame and glory,” Arya wasn’t being serious, Sansa could tell. If she was hell bent on doing something, she’d just do it and be done. 

 

“The children will be excited to see you, in morning,” Sansa said sternly, as Arya readied herself to leave. “They’re asleep now and I’ll never get them back to bed if you go in there and stir the pot.” 

 

“Me?” Arya gave her a plainly innocent look. “Never.” 

 

“I’ll tell Sandor you’re here,” Sansa came around the table to give her sister an ever so brief embrace, “and who to look out for, if you’re not wearing your face.”

 

“I think it’s better for me to be a stableboy right now,” Arya mused. 

 

“Alright, go on then,” Sansa shooed her out of her rooms and then went to ready herself for bed, smiling. It was so nice to have everyone home again. 

 

The next day the tourney began in earnest, replete with banners, horns, music, food, and enough action to make even Sansa’s head spin. Posy and Andrik were only allowed to join them to see Jon and Dany formally open the tourney, then they were taken back inside by the maester and septa, protesting all the way. Sansa, Sandor, their other children, and a few of their household sat in the royal box with Jon, Dany, Tyrion, and a boy who seemed to be a servant, except for the way he kept bending over to speak to the king. 

 

“Why doesn’t father participate in the melee?” Harding asked, watching with wide eyes as the knights readied themselves. 

 

“Because he is too good and would beat them all,” Arietta said confidently and Sansa saw Sandor’s mouth twitch. She knew that even if he wanted to fight, he couldn’t; the battle at the Isle of the Gods had taken some strength from him, and the resulting peace had tempered much of his rage. She was glad he was here, safe in the box with her. She reached across and took his hand for a brief moment, then watched as the fight began with the clash of metal on metal. 

 

Several well known knights were competing, as well as the northerners who didn’t take on the mantle of knighthood. Sansa watched for them in the melee, winching when one fell and was carried away. She worried that Arietta would be upset by the sight, but her daughter seemed more concerned for the horses in the jousts to come. Sansa smiled and shook her head. 

 

As the afternoon wore on, the melee numbers dwindled until in was only a dozen or so that remained, just under half being the northerners. Sansa couldn’t help but watch with bated breath like the others as the men turned on one another and fought. She hoped that any injuries sustained wouldn’t be too severe, and that all the men would walk away alive. 

 

“It’ll be the Coldwater knight,” the page boy who was Arya said confidently. Sandor snorted. 

 

“He’ll be the next to fall. The Sparr man will be the one; those Iron Bastards will do anything to win.” 

 

“So little faith in our own men,” Sansa input, “I’ll hold with Lockwood Poole and have you lot do the same.” 

 

“You’re all wrong, it’ll be the Thenn man,” piped up Arietta and they all turned to look at her in bewilderment. She refused to say anything else, watching intently, not matter how much Harding and Malin attempted to prove her wrong. 

 

In the end, however, she was proven right. The Thenn took out all the remaining competitors, including the hardy Vale knight and the cunning Ironborn. As he stood triumphant in the muddy field, Sansa recalled her first tourney, and the man who had won it. She turned to look at Sandor, a strange feeling overcoming her chest, as the prize money and flowers were awarded to the man. He accepted it with grace, then removed his armor and came to the royal box, kneeling in the muck in front of them. 

 

He was tall, though not quite so tall as Sandor. He was thin, with pale white skin and eyes so light blue that they could almost be grey. He wore his black hair short cropped, and a beard that was as closely shaven as his head. He was young but still the oldest of his brothers, and now a man who’d won a royal melee. Sansa clapped hard for him. She knew this could only be Torrhen Thenn, son of Sigorn and Alys. 

 

He came closer to the box then and presented Dany with several of the flowers. She accepted them graciously and he then moved to Sansa, presenting her with a small number. She smiled and congratulated him on his win, but he was already looking to Arietta, who was sitting straight up, hands clasped together tightly in her lap. To her, Torrhen presented one single rose of purest white. Arietta accepted it with a hand that only slightly trembled. Then he was gone and the crowd was rising, heading to the feast. Sansa waited for her husband to take her arm and smiled slightly when she saw the frown on his face. 

 

“If you do remember,” she said gently, “this was how we met.” 

 

“I recall,” he said tightly, a muscle in his jaw twitching something fierce. Sansa left it at that and went on to shepherd her children to the tent where the banquet would be held. 

 

She observed, over the course of the feast, that Torrhen kept an appropriate distance, at the table with his father’s men. Well wishers stopped frequently to congratulate him but never once did he boast or seem prideful. Sansa doubted anyone who wasn’t watching him as closely as she was would see just how often his eyes flickered to the head table. 

 

It was late in the night, the dance floor busy, when Alys, formerly Karstark now Thenn, dropped into a chair at Sansa’s side. Sansa smiled at the woman only slightly older than she; she’d known Alys since she was a girl and had always been impressed with her. That she’d taken a wilding husband and tamed him into something of a lord had impressed her even more. Alys didn’t say a word, but watched as Torrhen offered his hand to Arietta, who rose, blushing. 

 

“I did not think he would win today,” she spoke finally, “but he told me he wouldn’t have a chance in the joust. He’s a good fighter. Takes after his father that way.” 

 

“He did very well,” Sansa told her, “though I can see why a mother would worry in such a thing as a melee.” 

 

“Mothers always worry,” Alys looked at her sidelong, “especially mothers who have lived through the long winter.” 

 

“Indeed,” Sansa took a small sip from her wine, watching as Torrhen spun Arietta, the first smile on his face that she had seen all day. 

 

“Karhold isn’t that far away,” Alys still seemed conversational but Sansa knew their topic was anything but. “And it’s close to the coast. Good fishing and trading to be done year round. My son is eighteen, a man, and heir to his father’s name and house.” 

 

“A young girl impressed by the winner of a melee does not a happy long marriage make,” Sansa warned her and Alys smiled thinly. 

 

“No, but I danced this same way the night I married my husband." she stood and took Sansa’s hand, a slight smile on her face. “I’ve known you since you were a babe, Sansa Stark. Our ancestors are one and the same. I know your fears for your daughter, they are the same for mine own. Torrhen is the best of myself and my husband, a good man. He’s northern to the bone. And if your daughter loves him, then who are we to stop the gods?” 

 

“Who indeed?” Sansa watched her depart then looked back out over the dance floor. Arietta and Torrhen were still dancing, though she saw a younger man with the Glover sigil on his shirt watching them with a frown. It occurred to her that Alys had a point; Karstarks were Starks long ago, and Starks had the blood of wilding in them if the stories could be believed. Sansa herself had married a westernman. And she had promised her daughter the chance to decide her own fate and happiness. Supremely uncomfortable with these thoughts, she went to seek out her husband. 

 

Sandor at least waited until they were in their own rooms before he lost his temper; Sansa was surprised he had lasted that long at all. He raged that Karhold was too far, that Sigorn was cruel despite every evidence to the contrary, and that Arietta should marry someone more noble. Sansa had to remind him, repeatedly, that no marriage contract was made or signed, she was still in Winterfell’s walls, and she’d been impressed by the winner of a melee at her first tourney. She left out Alys’s remark on the dancing. Eventually Sandor calmed only when she suggested that if Torrhen did intend to court their daughter, he would do two things; stay at Winterfell as that all involved could become better acquainted, and meet Cassi. 

 

“Well, if the wolf rips his throat out, this will all be solved nicely,” he said rather cheerfully, climbing into bed and pulling her on top of him. 

 

His patience was sorely tested the next day, when Torrhen was invited by Jon and Dany to join them in the royal box. He sat between Malin and Harding, who had no time for their sister’s intentions and instead bombarded him with questions about the melee and what it had been like to win it. Torrhen answered their questions somberly, but only smiled when Arietta threw in a comment. Jon seemed oblivious to anything that was transpiring, including Sandor’s anger, but Dany saw it all with a smirk. 

 

The joust soon held more interest than Torrhen, and Malin and Harding watched, enraptured. They were most impressed with the knights who shattered their lances, even if that was not the point. Arietta watched it all with a straight face, though Sansa caught her once wiping away a tear when a horse went down screaming in pain. 

 

The winner of the joust was a knight from the Stormlands by the name of Caron; Arya cheerfully explained that his family had been one of the first to agree to Gendry’s rightful claim. He chose Dany as his queen of love and beauty, which Sansa was sure was quite alright with Torrehen. Afterwards, as the massive celebration began, Sansa went to find the young man and her daughter, quite unsurprised when they were secluded under one of the trees. 

 

“Mama!” Arietta leapt back from Torrhen when she spotted Sansa. Torrhen instantly became somber, clasping his hands behind his back. 

 

“Torrhen Thenn, forgive me for not congratulating you sooner on your victory yesterday,” Sansa said presently and Torrhen gave a little bow. 

 

“It was an honor to compete in the name of the North, your grace.” 

 

“Well you fought well, and I was pleased it was one of our own to win,” Sansa stated as Arietta watched her, wary of being in trouble. “I would love to show you something, if I may.” 

 

“Of course,” Torrhen stepped beside her before hesitating and looking back at Arietta. 

 

“Please, join us dear,” Sansa informed her daughter, who slowly came around to her other side and took Sansa’s arm. 

 

“Where are we going?” she hissed, as Sansa began the walk back to Winterfell. Sansa just patted her hand, then asked, 

 

“Torrhen, will you tell me about your family? I’ve known your mother of course, but have only met your father on occasion. And your siblings, how many do you have?” 

 

“Four, your grace,” he said smoothly, “two brothers and two sisters, all younger. My father is….” All the way into Winterfell he spoke of his family, of them being close and the involvement of his parents in his upbringing. He was still talking when they reached the gates of the godswood. 

 

“I will kill father,” Arietta muttered under her breath, once she correctly guessed what Sansa’s intentions were. 

 

“This is our godswood Torrhen, I assume you are familiar?” Sansa pushed the gate open and they entered. Ahead of them, the white tree shone in the dark.

 

“Of course,” Torrhen’s voice had dropped into that of reverence. Sansa smiled, happy to see that he knew the true customs of the north. Arietta however, had no such delight. She gave Sansa another cold look, then whistled sharply, three times. Torrhen turned to her quizzically, but it wasn’t long before the shadows began to rustle and from the darkness emerged the direwolves.

 

Cassi led the pack, coming for her girl. Via was second, curious. Tamaxis, Ony, and Ice hung back, as though they sensed this wasn’t their fight to have. Arietta whistled again for Cassi, who came to her side. Arietta slung an arm around her wolf’s neck and informed Torrhen, 

 

“This is my direwolf, Cassi. I am assuming that my parents want you to meet her, because if she doesn’t approve of you then neither will they.” 

 

“She’s a smart girl,” Sansa told Torrhen, who seemed to be doing his best to remain calm in the face of several large wolves. Cassi took a step forward, sniffing the air around Torrhen. He remained as still as he could, eyes wide. Cassi took another step, then another, until she was close enough to touch him. Sansa held her breath, until Cassi nudged under Torrhen’s hand until it was resting atop her large head. Then she sat, dutifully. Sansa had to hide her smile.

 

“See?” Arietta looked clearly pleased with the result of the test and Sansa only smiled back at her. 

 

“I’ll be sure to tell your father,” she promised, turned and departing. As she went, she heard Torrhen ask, 

 

“That went well, I hope?” 

 

“Better than you know,” Arietta replied, “now scratch her ears or she’ll start to whine. She’s a big baby like that. This is Via, she’s my sister’s wolf, and those are my brothers' over there….” 

 

Sandor wasn’t as pleased when Sansa returned and informed him that the wolves had no objection to the Thenn but he accepted grudgingly that Sansa would talk to Sigorn and Alys to see if Torrhen would stay with them. She was rather satisfied now that she’d been able to judge Torrhen for a good man. The direwolves were never wrong and Sansa had learned to trust them. Now she only had Malin to worry about, she supposed. 

 

As she looked up, she spotted him dancing rather jubilantly with a Manderly girl and sighed. Perhaps that was Sandor’s job to sort out. 

**Author's Note:**

> i just have a lot of feels about the wildings and the Starks and the Karstarks and all of the north. they just deserve so much!!!


End file.
